


a necessary end

by oberonmartell



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex Dreams, statement of jonathan sims regarding kinks he did not know he had
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oberonmartell/pseuds/oberonmartell
Summary: Jonathan has started keeping a dream journal. You know, in case an eldritch horror tries to get him through his dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

_Jonathan Sims wakes up in his old bedroom in the Archive. There are more pillows on the bed than he ever used, it’s warmer here than in the rest of the basement, and Martin’s hand is wrapped around his cock._

_He’s lying on his back, naked, looking up at Martin, who’s supporting himself on one elbow and looking at his face with the same intensity that Jonathan uses for case files when he tries to make disparate bits of information cohere by sheer force of will. Martin’s white shirt is half undone, and there’s a red mark in the hollow of his throat-did_ he _leave it there? At that thought, his hips thrust up into Martin’s hand of their own accord._

 _“You like this?” Martin asks, as though it’s a genuine question, as though Jonathan could possibly_ not _like this._

_“Of course I like this, you idiot,” he says, reaching up with his left hand and pulling Martin down to kiss him, but Martin apparently has other ideas, as his teeth graze where his throat meets his collarbone._

_“You like_ this _?” he murmurs, and at the accompanying bite Jonathan can do nothing but moan._

_Martin begins to lay light kisses down his torso. He has to let go of Jonathan’s cock in order to do this, but his disappointment at this is quickly overshadowed by Martin’s discovery of his sensitive bits._

_“Oh,_ Martin _,” he sighs, twining his hand into the younger man’s hair-_

_Wait._

_Where’s the worm scar on the side of his right wrist?_

_Right before deep panic sets in, Martin’s mouth is around him and he can’t think straight._

_“Martin, Martin-” His breath starts to come faster as his hips thrust violently. His back arches and even though he wants to burn the sight of Martin’s head between his thighs into his memory forever, he stares wild-eyed at his ceiling-_

_His_ ceiling.

The Archive bedroom ceiling was tiled, this was his plain white. His bed, his old t-shirt he had fallen asleep in, and his scarred hand was tangled in his sheets and not Martin’s hair. One of the harder thrusts must have woken him. Of course-he never had scars in his dreams.

“At least it wasn’t a nightmare,” he said aloud, and reached for the pen and navy blue notebook on his bedside table.

_Tuesday: no dreams. Nearly late for work, though._

_Wednesday: Dreamed_ _~~I had sex with~~   _

No.

 _Wednesday: Dreamed Martin. We were in the bedroom in the Archive. I was naked and had no scars._ ~~_He l  He was_ ~~ _It was not unpleasant, but I’m mostly confused now._

He was also still just as hard as he had been in the dream, which was rather inconvenient. And he had to act normally (or at least what passed for normally these days) around Martin at work, which was also rather inconvenient.

 _I wonder if his hair does feel like that_ , he thought as he stepped into the shower. Though, of course, Martin’s dream hair had been only a figment of his subconscious.

As the hot water woke him up, the sensible side of his brain woke up as well. “You cannot think about your employees like this,” he lectured himself as he washed his hair. “Even if you weren’t only just convinced that he didn’t murder your predecessor, you’re his boss.”

Still, Martin’s looks of genuine concern had managed to pierce the shell of his paranoia on more than one occasion. And they had shared a...moment while under attack by Prentiss, and his natural kindness fascinated Jonathan, and he was attractive (in an atypical boyish way-)

 _As though he would ever look twice at you, even without the scars,_ he thought, which should have been enough to shut the whole avenue of thought down. Except he was still hard from the dream.

 _There should be a point of age where one stops having sex dreams,_ he thought as he took himself in hand and thought of his college girlfriend, his college boyfriend, anyone who wasn’t a sweet-faced researcher.

 

***

 

Martin looked taken aback by the question.

“I said, do you dye your hair?”

“Why are you asking? Is this the form your paranoia takes today?”

“No, no. It’s a different color at the ends than the roots, I just noticed. Do you?”

“No, it’s a family thing. And if it’s long enough that you can notice, I need a haircut.” He turned on his heel to leave.

“Martin?”

“What?” he asked, turning around in the doorway.

“I’m sorry.”

Martin blinked.

“I should never have suspected you of...conspiring against me. You would never do that, and I was wrong to mistrust you. I’m sorry that you had to stage an intervention, and I’m sorry I was harsh with you, and I’m sorry for being difficult to deal with for the past...months, and-” The sentence trailed off into the air.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll consider your apology.”

“You’ll _consider_?”

“It’s a Jewish thing. You have to sincerely apologize three times, and then if I don’t forgive you I’m the one doing wrong. But not until then.”

This was entirely fair. Martin’s look of bitterness as he no doubt reflected on the past months was entirely fair. Martin walking out of his office was entirely fair. Jonathan wanted to take the concept of “entirely fair,” rip it to shreds, burn the shreds, and throw the ashes into that sky that ate people.

 

***

 

_Click._

“This isn’t really a supplemental. Just something for my own mental health. I apologized to all three of them today. Sasha is still worried about me, Tim took it in stride, and Martin-well, Martin apparently won’t forgive me until I sincerely apologize three times. Martin is justified in his anger, but I wish...I wish I could soften it. I-”

_Creeeeeeeeak._

“Oh hello, Tim. Martin.”

“We got those files on that ghost story you were asking for, boss. There were a lot, as you can see, so I made Martin help me.”

“Jonathan, there’s an _1830_ edition of the complete works of Shakespeare in this box.”

“Oh, he’s _really_ excited about that. I found a skull to hold up to make fun of him, but there is some weird sh-stuff in artifact storage and it made me dizzy if I looked it in the eyes for too long.”

“Tim, don’t do that sort of thing in _artifact storage_. Also, go home, it’s late. Martin, can you stay for a moment?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

_Creeeeeeeak._

“So what’s Shakespeare doing in the box?”

“I have no idea. The ghost, you see, was a ghost of a local Shakespearean actor-this all happened in the country-the ghost’s name was Edward Hull? Hall? Something like that. It seems like it haunted this other guy who really liked Shakespeare, whose name was also Edward-”

“Edward Winchester, yes.”

“Yes, that, and his family just gave all his stuff to the Institute in the hopes that it would make the ghost go away, but it didn’t work.”

“So it’s not evidence?”

“Not really?”

“Take it.”

“What?”

“The Shakespeare. If you’re so excited by it, and if it isn’t evidence for a case, take it.”

“I-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Martin. Only one volume?”

“It’s the sonnets. I write poetry, not plays. And, if I do end up getting haunted by a 19th-century leading man, I’ll put it back.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, Martin.”

“Goodnight, Jonathan. And thank you, again.”

_Creeeeeeeeak._

“End recording.”

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued...  
> for those of you unfamiliar with my most prized headcanon martin blackwood is jewish  
> i totally made up the shakespeare dudes sorry  
> for more screaming about magnus u can find me on twitter @angeluspolitian or tumblr @kitmarlowes


	2. Chapter 2

“He just _gave_ it to you?” Sasha asked.

“Wait, _who_ did _what_ to you?”

“Tim!” exclaimed Martin. “This is a conversation about Shakespeare, not-” Martin waved his hands in a nonsense sort of way. He could feel his face getting red.

“Disappointing. What’s going on, then?” Tim asked, walking over from by the microwave to the couch where Martin and Sasha were sitting.

“Jonathan gave Martin that copy of Shakespeare you two had last night,” said Sasha, “because it wasn’t actually evidence-”

“And because Jonathan’s in _love_ with you-” -here Tim put his hand over his heart in a rather Shakespearean gesture- “-and this was a token of his great affection, so you should totally make out with him-”

“Wait, Tim, _what_?” asked Sasha.

Martin really wanted the fire alarm to go off. Or another worm invasion to happen, or literally anything in the world that could stop this conversation. Attempting to hide his blush was only making it worse.

“Oh. You don’t know? Yeah, Martin’s in love with our boss, so-”

“Was! I _had_ a _tiny_ crush on our boss. Before I got to know him.” That made them both laugh.

“He _does_ seem a little less paranoid lately,” said Sasha.

“It’s hard to get worse than suspecting us of murder. Do you think he gave you the Shakespeare apologetically-I mean, like, as an apology, Martin?”

“I-I don’t know. Probably. Maybe? I refused to forgive him for suspecting me of betraying him, so that might be it.”

“Wait,” asked Tim, having maneuvered himself to the opposite couch, “did you straight up say ‘No, I’m not forgiving you, fuck off mate’ or something?”

“Tim, Martin would _definitely_ say ‘fuck off mate’ to our boss.”

“No no no, but I did say something like...in Judaism, if someone wrongs you, they have to apologize three times, sincerely, before you’re being a dick by not forgiving them.”

“So you’re not accepting his apology because it’s against your religion?” Something about Tim’s joking tone made Martin hot with anger.

“No, I’m not accepting his apology because _how dare he_. I-we have been nothing but loyal to him, we all did our best to protect each other _including him_ during the worm attack, we’ve all worked for this place for years and we’re good at our jobs, why would we kill someone? Why would we go behind his back? How _fucking_ dare he think that I would ever-”

_Beep-boop. Beep-boop. Beep-boop._

“Sorry,” Sasha frowned, holding up her phone. “It’s Tom. I understand, Martin.” And with that she got up and made for the staircase. Reception was awful in the basement.

“Martin,” said Tim, moving to take Sasha’s place on the couch, “Do you want my expert advice?”

“Sure, Tim, I’d _love_ your expert advice.”

“It sounds like you still have feelings for him.”

“It sounds like _what_?”

“Wanna hear a story about one of my exes?”

“One of your, what was it, two hundred exes?” This was an old joke in the Archives.

“No! Anyway, they-”

“Three hundred?”

“ _Martin_. Anyway. They-I thought they were cheating on me, it turns out they actually just were working a lot of late nights because their job was really stressful. But when I confronted them about it, they reacted just like you did just now. Like, the, ‘how dare you suspect me of hurting you,’ etc etc. Just my opinion, but I have been in more relationships than you.”

“Tim. He suspected me of _killing a person_. He stalked all of us for no reason. We had to get _Elias_ to intervene. And even if all of that wasn’t true, I’m never going to act on my feelings, and _you know why_.” And with that, Martin got up, walked out of the break room, and returned to work.

It was probably best, he figured, if he avoided both Jonathan and Tim for a while.

 

***

 

_Why is it so hot?_

_Jonathan’s back is pressed against a filing cabinet. He’s deep in the Archives, and it must be forty centigrade, and there is something here that he needs to hide from._

_“This is a dream, this is a dream,” he says aloud, frantically looking around for the thing, but he can’t see much around the filing cabinet, and doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. He tugs at his collar, trying to cool off at least a little bit-_

_“Where’s the tape?”_

_“Martin!” Martin has suddenly appeared from nowhere. “What-”_

_“The tape. It wants the tape. Give it the tape.”_

_“What tape? Martin, there are a hundred thousand tapes in here-”_

_“The_ tape _,” says dream-Martin, and suddenly he grabs Jonathan by the collar. It doesn’t hurt, because this is a dream, but his face is very close. “Is it in your shirt pocket?”_

_“Martin, I don’t know wh-” But dream-Martin has reached under his sweater vest and his hand is somehow cool, and then he takes his hand away and there’s suddenly a black tape that hadn’t produced any feeling on Jonathan’s chest, because this is a dream._

_“Why did you hide the tape from me?” asks dream-Martin, the monster they are hiding from quite forgotten. “Why?”_

_“I didn’t know it was there!”_

_“You hid it. You lied.” The filing cabinet is too hot against Jonathan’s back, like the rest of this dream-Archive, but he remembers the coolness of dream-Martin’s hands and wants him closer, desperately._

_“I didn’t-”_

_“Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.” Dream-Martin’s hands are blessedly cool on his face, but he looks enraged as he repeats the accusation, each word punctuated by gripping Jonathan’s head and shaking it so violently that both of their dream-bodies move together. “Liar! Liar! Liar!”_

Jonathan woke up sweating, having somehow ended up under three blankets. It was four in the morning according to his phone.

_Monday: I was in the Archive. It was very hot. I was hiding from an unknown entity. Martin asked me for a tape, told me the unknown entity wanted it. I didn’t have a tape so far as I knew, but he produced one from my breast pocket. Then he called me a-_

Jonathan would give up quite a lot to erase Martin’s dream-face from his memory.

_Then he called me a liar for hiding it from him. He looked_ ~~ _an_  ~~  ~~ _ver_~~ _very upset._

 

***

 

“So...are you being haunted by the ghost of a nineteenth-century leading man?”

Martin leapt about a foot in the air.

“Did I scare you?” Jonathan asked, holding up his hands as if to steady Martin’s shoulders, and for a second Martin wished he would. Not that Jonathan had particularly sexy hands-not that Martin was a hands expert, either-but they were part of _him_ , and-

“Martin?”

“What? Yeah, no, I’m fine. Everything’s fine, lo-I mean, yes, you did scare me-I’m just out of it today.”

_God, why didn’t I say “I’m apparently being haunted by you?” That would have been so funny._

“That’s alright. I’ve emerged from my cave-”-Jonathan could spend whole days in his office, none of the three of them would see him-“-as you can see. I just wanted to make sure that the Shakespeare isn’t actually evidence.”

_Or I could have said “How can I be haunted if I’m a ghost?” Dammit!_

“Martin. I ask this because I-care about you. Really, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Really. Not being haunted by any ghosts. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Jonathan, I swear. I’m fine.” _Please don’t get paranoid again, please._

“And-I wanted to apologize again. Sincerely. What I did was wrong and I have no excuse.”

It sounded ridiculous, but Martin felt like he’d never seen Jonathan’s face before that moment. He looked so open-obviously he had a face, but it was a work face, a social face, not a real face.

“Thank you.”

“I’m still not forgiven?”

“I have to think about it.”

Jonathan smiled a sad smile. “Oh, and, um, here. It didn’t fit in the box. And I need to go. Meetings.” And with that he turned and left, looking almost embarrassed.

Martin was often confused by human interaction, but this seemed like something else. Was Jonathan uncomfortable around him? _Shy_? Jonathan Sims had never been shy in his life, what-

Unbidden, almost as if it were an audio recording, Tim from the other day began to play in his mind. _And because Jonathan’s in_ love _with you-_

“I’m projecting,” he said aloud.

_Jonathan’s in_ love _with you-Jonathan’s in_ love _with you-_

In an attempt to banish these thoughts, Martin looked at the thing Jonathan had left for him. It was the volume of plays from the other day, and looked in remarkably good condition. Very little red rot-had it been wrapped at some point, or were the Archives just a very good storage space? He decided to open to a random page to check the binding.

_Have you not love enough to bear with me,/When that rash humour my mother gave me/Makes me forgetful?_

“Cassius, I did _not_ need this.”

***

 

Jonathan came back from a long meeting in Elias’s office to a Post-it on his door.

_I forgive you. I forgive you everything._ _  
_ _Blame Shakespeare._

_-Martin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why will martin not act on his feelings? you'll find out!  
> did martin almost say to jonathan "everything's fine, love you, bye"? i leave that to your discretion, reader.  
> sorry there was no sex in this one. there will be more in the next i promise  
> again i'm twitter user angeluspolitian and tumblr user kitmarlowes if you wanna holler at me on other platforms


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